"Nautha isn't a saint," Winna protested. "She's a monster from children's stories."

"So was the Briar King," Stephen said.

"Anyway, somebody somebody remembers her old name." He frowned. "Or was reminded. She was mentioned in several of the texts I deciphered. Another of her aspects was 'mother devouring.' She who eats life and gives birth to death." He looked down. "They couldn't have done this without me, without my research." remembers her old name." He frowned. "Or was reminded. She was mentioned in several of the texts I deciphered. Another of her aspects was 'mother devouring.' She who eats life and gives birth to death." He looked down. "They couldn't have done this without me, without my research."

"Stephen, this isn't your fault," Winna said.

"No," Stephen said. "It isn't. But I was an instrument of whoever's fault it is, and that doesn't please me."

"Then we should follow the monk's trail," Leshya said.

"Let me see the letter," Stephen said. "Then we can decide what to do. We were sent to find the Briar King, not to chase my corrupt brethren all over the King's Forest. It may be that one of us ought to take word back to the praifec."

"We already found the Briar King," Aspar said.

"What?" Stephen turned in his saddle.

"It was the Briar King and his creatures killed the rest of those monks back there," Aspar explained.

"You said something about the Briar King's hunt," Stephen said, "but I didn't realize you had seen him him again. Then the arrow must not have worked." again. Then the arrow must not have worked."

"I didn't use it," Aspar said.

"Didn't use it?"

"The Briar King isn't the enemy," Leshya replied. "He attacked the monks and let us be."

"He is the enemy," Ehawk's voice came weakly. "He turns villagers into animals and makes them kill other villagers. He may hate the monks, but he hates all men."

"He's cleansing his forest," Leshya said.

"My people have lived in the mountains since the day the Skasloi fell," Ehawk said. "It is our right to live there."

Leshya shrugged. "Consider," she said. "He wakes, and discovers his forest is diseased, and from the rot monsters are springing which will only hasten its end. Utins, greffyns-the black thorns. It is the disease he is fighting, and so far as he is concerned, the people who live in this forest and cut its trees are part of that disease."

"He didn't kill us," Aspar pointed out.

"Because," she said, "like him, we are part of the cure."

"You don't know that," Stephen said.

Again she shrugged. "Not for certain, I suppose, but it makes sense. Can you think of another explanation?"

"Yes," Stephen said. "Something is wrong with the forest, yes, and terrible creatures are waking or being born. The Briar King is one of them, and like them he is mad, old, senile, and terribly powerful. He is no more our friend or our enemy than a storm or bolt of lightning."

"That's not so different from what I just said," Leshya replied.

Stephen turned to Aspar. "What do you think, holter?"

Aspar blew out a breath. "You may both be right. But whatever is wrong with the forest, the Briar King isn't the cause of it. And I think he is trying to fix it."

"But that could mean killing every man, woman, and child within its boundaries," Stephen pointed out.

"Yah."

Stephen's eyes widened. "You don't care care! You care more about the trees than you do about the people."

"Don't talk for me, Stephen," Aspar cautioned.

"You talk, then. You tell me."

"Read the letter," Aspar said, to change a topic he wasn't sure about himself. "Then we'll reckon where to go from here. It may be that we should have another talk with the praifec."

Stephen frowned at him, but took the letter from Leshya's hand. When he examined the seal, he smiled grimly.

"Indeed," he said. "We may well want to have another conversation with Praifec Hespero. This is his seal."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

AT THE B BALL.

FRALET A ACKENZAL?"

Leoff looked up at the young man who stood at his door. He had blue eyes and wispy yellow hair. His nose bent to one side, and he seemed a bit distracted by it.

"Yes?"

"If it please you, I've been sent to conduct you to the lady Gramme's affair."

"I . . . I'm quite busy," Leoff said, tapping the music notation on his desk. "I've a commission . . ."

The man frowned. "You did did accept the lady's invitation." accept the lady's invitation."

"Well, yes, actually, but-"

The fellow wagged his finger as if Leoff were a naughty child. "Milady made it quite clear that she would be most insulted if you did not attend. She's had a new hammarharp brought in just for you."

"I see." Leoff cast his gaze desperately around the room in the vague hope that he would see something that would get him out of this predicament.

"I've not much to wear," he attempted.

The man smiled and beckoned to someone unseen. A round-faced girl dressed in servant's garb appeared, bearing a bundle of neatly folded clothes.

"I think these will fit you," the man said. "My name is Alvreic. I'm your footman for the night."

Seeing no escape, Leoff took the clothes and went to his bedchamber.

Leoff watched the slowly turning saglwics of a malend on the side of the canal and shivered, both from the cold and the memory of that night near Broogh. A full moon, pale in the daylight, rose just behind it, and in the clear air he heard the distant barking of dogs. The autumn smell of hay was gone, replaced by the scent of ash.

"I had rather thought the ball was to be held in the castle," Leoff ventured.

"Is the coat not warm enough?"

"It's a beautiful coat," Leoff said. It was, for it was quilted and embroidered with leaves on the high collar and wide cuffs. He just wished it were as warm as it was pretty.

"The lady has excellent taste."

"Where are are we going, may I ask?" we going, may I ask?"

"Why, Grammeshugh, of course," Alvreic replied. "Milady's estate."

"I thought the lady Gramme lived in the castle."

"She does, most of the time, but she does have the estate, of course."

"Of course," Leoff repeated, feeling stupid.

He felt as if he were in one of those dreams where one kept getting farther and farther from one's goal, gradually forgetting altogether what that goal was.

He still remembered his intention had been to avoid the party. After Artwair's warning and the strange night with the queen, any connection to the lady Gramme seemed foolish.

So he'd decided to pretend he'd forgotten her invitation. That had clearly failed, so his next-best hope had been to make a brief appearance and then quietly excuse himself. Now somehow he'd left the castle, passed down through the gates of the city, and onto a narrowboat headed back out across Newland. It would be night soon, and the city gates would close-it would be tomorrow before he could get back to his rooms.

He should simply have refused to go, but it was too late for that. Now he could only hope the queen didn't find out.

The world darkened, and Leoff huddled against it. For him, there was no longer anything innocent about the night. It hid things, but unfairly it did not hide him. On the contrary, it seemed as if he were prey for everything out there, and he felt hunted. He even slept with a lamp lit, these nights.

Presently he noticed a line of cheerful lights ahead, and as they drew nearer saw lanterns strung along the side of the canal. They led up to a quayside pavilion, where twice a score or more canal boats were docked.

Music was in the air. He first heard the high, sweet voice that sounded like a flageolet, but with a more haunting timber and odd glissando passages between certain notes. The rhythm was odd, too, first in two, then in three, to two, broadening to four. The unpredictability of it made him grin.

So did the underlying play of the croth and the bright comments of a push-pull. The tune seemed light and cheerful, but overall it felt melancholy, because the foundation was a slow, deep movement of a bass vithul, played with a bow.

It wasn't exactly like any music he had ever heard, which was both exciting and strange.

They were near enough to dock before the lantern light showed him the faces of the players-four Sefry men, their broad hats set aside for night, faces like silver sculptures in the moonlight.

Two normal men came to take the bowline and tie the boat up. Ignoring his guide, Leoff stepped off onto the quay and approached the Sefry, hoping to speak with one of them. The flageolet, he saw, had no windcap; the musician was blowing directly onto the diagonal cut made into the bone-ivory?-instrument. The other instruments were standard, so far as he could see.

"Come, come," Alvreic said. "Make haste. You're late already."

The musicians showed no sign that they noticed his attentions, and the song did not seem near its end.

The lanterns continued up a low hill, limning a road that led to the looming shadow of a manse. As Leoff and Alvreic made their way silently up to the estate, a voice joined the music, and everything about the piece snapped into place in a way that brought a sigh to his lips. He strained to hear the words, but they weren't in the king's tongue. He had a sudden, vivid image of the cottage by the sea where he had grown up. He saw his sister Glinna playing in his mother's garden, her blond hair muddy, her face huge with smile, his father on a stool, playing a little croth.

A pile of stones, that house now. Ghosts, his father and sister.

And it suddenly seemed he did did understand the words, if only for an instant. understand the words, if only for an instant.

Then the din from the manse trod over the Sefry melody. There was music in that, too, a familiar country dance that seemed heavy and vulgar after what he'd just heard. But by the laughter and shouts he made out along with it, he guessed it was pleasing to most of its audience.

Presently they reached a pair of immense iron-bound doors, which-at a sign from Alvreic to someone unseen-slowly creaked open. A doorman in bright green hose and brown tunic greeted them.

"Leovigild Ackenzal," Alvreic said. "He's to be announced."

Leoff held back a sigh. So much for avoiding notice.

They followed the doorman down a long, candlelit hall to another pair of doors, which also swung open, this time to reveal a hall ablaze with lamp- and candlelight. Sounds came pouring out, music mixed with the chatter of the crowd. The musicians were at the far end, a quartet, now playing a pavane. Perhaps twenty couples were dancing to it, and easily twice as many standing about in conversation.

But as he entered the room, all that stopped, and more than a hundred people turned to regard him. The music fell silent.

"I present Leovigild Ackenzal," the doorman announced in a clear, carrying voice. "Composer to the court and hero of Broogh."

Leoff wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the sudden roar of applause took him utterly by surprise. He'd performed before the public before, of course, and had received praise for his compositions. But this-this was something different. He felt his face reddening.

The lady Gramme appeared suddenly on his arm, coming from nowhere. She leaned in to peck his cheek, then turned back to the crowd. Leoff noticed someone else stepping up on his other side, a young man. He put a hand on Leoff's shoulder. Leoff could only stand there, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

When the crowd finally quieted, Lady Gramme curtsied to them. Then she smiled at Leoff.

"I suppose I might have told you that you were the guest of honor," she said.

"I beg your pardon?" Leoff blurted.

But Gramme already had turned back to the crowd. "Fralet Ackenzal is nothing if not modest, my friends, and it won't do to embarrass him too much, nor would it do for me to keep him to myself, when so many of you wish to visit with him. But this is is my house, after all, and I'm allowed a few liberties." my house, after all, and I'm allowed a few liberties."

She smiled through the chorus of laughter that followed her statement. Then, when she spoke again, her voice was suddenly serious.

"This hall is full of light," she said. "But do not be fooled. Outside there is darkness, whether the sun is shining or no. These are hard days, terrible days, and what makes it worse is that our own courage seems to have deserted us. Adversity crowns heroes, isn't that the old saying? And yet who has been crowned here? Who has stepped forth from the shadows of our tragedies and taken a strong hand against the rising evil? I-like you-have despaired that such men no longer seem to be born in this world. And yet this man, a stranger to our country, not even trained as a warrior, has been our savior, and I hereby crown him our hero! From hence, let him carry the title of Cavaor Cavaor!"

Something settled on Leoff's head as the crowd began cheering again. He felt it and realized it was a metal circlet.

The crowd suddenly stilled again, and Leoff waited nervously to see what would happen next.

"I think they'd like a word from you," the lady said.

Leoff blinked, surveying the waiting faces.

He cleared his throat.

"Ah, thank you," he said. "It is most unexpected. Most. I, umm-but you haven't got it quite right."